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Chapter 4 - A Signature in Blue Ink

The attachment arrived six minutes later. It looked authentic: the county seal, the house address, Evelyn's full name, and a blue signature across the bottom. Only one thing was wrong. Evelyn hadn't signed it.

Mara spread three documents across her desk. "The rental agreement alone is trouble. This is worse."

"Is it a deed?"

"A forged copy of a deed, possibly used to impersonate you. I want the original metadata and whoever handled the transaction."

Evelyn studied her signature. The curve of the final letter was her husband's, not hers. Paul had once jokingly shown Ryan how to imitate her writing on birthday cards. She hadn't thought about that memory in years.

At the diner, Ryan laid the image in front of Natalie. "Tell me you didn't make this."

She frowned. "I sent scans to Lena. She prepared everything."

"Where did you get Mom's signature?"

"An old Christmas card. Don't look at me like that. It's a formality."

"You copied her signature."

"I was going to tell her after we paid back the deposit."

"That's not what telling someone means."

The children watched from the far end of the booth. Ryan lowered his voice. "Call the customers. Refund their money. Today."

Natalie looked at the table. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because the deposit is gone."

He waited for the explanation. It was worse than he expected. Natalie had used some of it to catch up on the townhome mortgage, some on credit cards, and nearly twelve thousand dollars to settle a private debt with Colin's friend Derek.

Colin stood so quickly his chair fell. "You told me that was your savings."

"I had to keep the collectors away from our house," Natalie said.

Ryan could barely hear her. His mother had spent years teaching him that bad news became dangerous when people hid it. He had answered her concern with sarcasm. Last Sunday, when Evelyn asked about the party, he said, "Stop being difficult. Natalie has it handled."

May you like

A new message from Mara reached his phone: Do not let anyone enter the basement room. I need you to know why.

A second text followed: Your father's notebooks are missing.

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